


The Absence of Alice

by AsarInrahe



Category: Classic Alice (Web Series)
Genre: Christmas Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2857430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsarInrahe/pseuds/AsarInrahe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew cannot sleep. It's Christmas and he's far away from the place he wants to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Absence of Alice

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Enviously I announce that both Andrew and Alice are Kate Hackett's, the puppet master's.

It is three a.m. Andrew is following the lines of the wood on the ceiling. Somewhere outside his window the neighboring house casts a glow of glary Christmas lights on the clouds that droop on the sky.

He considers getting up. That would be the fourth time. He's had to plug in his phone since the battery almost ran out. He was chatting on Twitter with some people who follow Alice's vlog - his project. Finally he wrenched the charger out of the socket next to his bed, and rammed it into the one on the other side of the room. It's on silent. He has put three throw pillows on top of it.

He turns onto his side and wraps his arm around his head, to silence the thoughts that plague him.

How can you miss a person so - someone whom you didn't even properly know a year ago? How is it possible to actually see her everywhere. A red coat on the street has his heart skipping beats. A pink dress at the Christmas party, where his parents dragged him in a tailored suit that made him feel he was playacting, took his breath away for a second. Even shoes. Oh God, he never thought he would actually notice women’s shoes. Now that he sees a pair of - what were they called - ballroom shoes, he thinks of ankles and feels like he's in a Victorian novel.

But the faces are always wrong. No one has red hair like Alice's. Or it's the wrong shade of red, or the light doesn't touch the curls in just the same places. And the skin isn't as soft-looking and pale, the curve of the neck and chin never comes near to the shape he got so used to looking at, the one at which he now steals glances.

The sheets smell of lavender and... something. Something at the same time so familiar and repulsive. Not exactly that. Maybe it's just the reminder that even when he closes his eyes, he knows he is here. In this huge echoing room, with the velvet curtains slightly apart to let him know the world outside still exists.

Alice laughed at his tidy rooms at first, but when he told her that his mother didn't like people pinning things on the walls, she just smiled and looked into him, like she often did. He misses that. They hardly ever look at each other in the eyes now. Only through laughter or the brief glances you give your friends faces.

His phone makes a muffled sound under the throw pillows. It's on silent, but he probably forgot the customized ringtones. That is Alice's text message chirp.

Andrew almost trips on the pajamas top on the floor. His mum expects civilized pajamas, with collars and buttons all the way up. Pajamas with which you can sit at the beautifully set breakfast table and listen to the expensive cutlery clink a parody of chimes into the silence. He missed the chair when he ripped the top off around midnight. It is not possible to sleep in one.

Alice has sent him a picture of a pile of books. Andrew smiles, the lump that has lodged itself between his ribcage and diaphragm is loosened for a second. His lungs gulp a full breath of air. She's awake as well. Probably been reading her presents. Andrew zooms in the names of the books and then he sees it: there's a corner of a Christmas card sticking out of the pages of one. It is the one he gave her. The card, that is. It was one of those cheap cards you get from the market, full of tiny Christmas stuff that together formed the shape of a heart. He gave Cara one that made a star and Nathan got the creepy Santa's face. 

So every time Alice starts reading, or marks her place and puts down the book, she sees the card. Andrew walks to the window and lays his forehead against the cool glass. After a while he walks back to the phone and replies something light to Alice. About the books in a slightly mocking fashion.

Just as he is returning to his bed, the phone bleeps again. Alice answers:

"Hope I didn't wake you. What did you get? How are your folks? Say hi to them and thank your mom again for the Christmas decorations."

Andrew looks at the first edition of something-or-other on the bedside table. He can imagine the gleam in Alice's eyes if she got it in her hands. He liked it too, but hasn't been able to concentrate on it at all. He sends her a photo anyway. He also realizes that it's been months since Alice has actually texted him, instead of Tweeting. Probably since before the Dostoyevsky incident.

"Not at all. Got some books, clothes etc. They're asleep now but I will. Starting to miss you."

Andrew stares at the message for a second and then backtracks the last three letters.

"...Valeton."

There is that aching feeling again, the daily one at Valeton. The one he must keep inside. The one everyone can still see. But he still prefers that one to the absence of Alice.

There is a long silence. The phone screen grows dark. Andrew considers checking Twitter, but decides against it. He sits back on the bed, his feet against the cool floor, reaches for a pillow and hugs it to his chest. A car passes somewhere far off. The darkness heightens his sense of hearing and he listens how his heartbeat steadies slowly against the pillow.

The house is quiet. As it always has been. His father has taken some weird courses to stop snoring. Not that Andrew ever could hear it to his room. Next to his room is an empty one. Andrew supposes it was for the brother or sister that never came. Or then it might have always been intended as a guestroom. But the rest of the guestrooms are in the other wing of the house. So maybe... But they never talk about it.

The phone startles him awake again.

"Do you want to talk?" is Alice's simple question. "Going to sleep now, but you could call tomorrow, anytime."

Andrew stares at the words. They used to talk on the phone. Occasionally. Last winter and the fall before when Andrew first began to notice her. It had started as a prank, when Andrew had the flu and his dorm-mates had called Alice and made her talk to him since his voice was gone and he could but listen. She hadn't known what to say at first, but had then started to explain about a book, which happened to be something that Andrew had read as well. Later he called her to express his own opinion, as soon as his voice returned.

"Okay. Yeah. Would be nice. Call you round noon. Good night," he replies before he can stop himself.

He's still waiting for the chirrup of the phone when he finally falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Sorry for the typos etc. My Word crashed so couldn't even spellcheck, so be gentle with me.
> 
> I had no idea, when starting to write this, that Alice would text Andrew! I was so surprised! I kinda want to know what happens next.


End file.
